Friendship Cluttered
by Tom Without A Turkey
Summary: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends." The story of Severus & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov. Sev is OOC, b/ for good reason. AU after the war. A romantic dramedy. Citrus on chap 12
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note 1: I don't own Harry Potter. Legalese, legalese. J.K. Rowling does. More legalese and more legalese.

Author's Note 2: I couldn't help but noodle with this after taking it to the cleaners. You can thank Tychesong for that. She's been giving me notes on my chapters, which is ever so nice of her. She's helping this story be better than it is. Also, you should also check out her work. It's really good. ;)

Summery: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends. How wrong we were." The muti-chapter story of Severus Snape & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov, 1st person. AU after the war.

Rating: Mature. Things are going to heat up later.

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><p>I walked through the wood of the Forbidden Forest, hands tucked into my pockets, the leaves crunchy under my shoes: One pair of shoes, the sound of solitude everlasting.<p>

I don't know how I really expected people to react when I was reintegrated into society after spending three years in St. Mungo's as a part of my recovery, hovering between life and death, as most people and their reactions have often puzzled me throughout my life, but I still didn't expect what I got once I was freed.

It wasn't expected for me to survive, especially since I had officially died for 24 hours. Of course, everyone has heard of those near-death experiences, the ones during which the person who is playing chicken with the grim reaper either sees a bright light or loved ones. For me, it was both.

When I died, the world around me had somehow started to rise and it shimmered around me like heat waves rising to create a mirage before it all fell away completely. It was then that I tumbled with almost weightless ease into the dark and, then, the light.

I remember using my hand to shield my eyes, hoping that it would help somehow, orient me to my new surroundings like a viewfinder, but it was bright, too bright, the light refracting into my dark eyes as a sort of savage assault. Nevertheless, I continued to try to scan my surroundings, looking for the one person that everyone would expect me to look for, the one person that I sacrificed everything for.

I really was expecting at any moment to catch out of the corner of my eye a shiny banner of red hair, darting past like a startled doe diving into the wood, but I would never see that hair, nor would I ever see that green eyed smile, simply because she wouldn't be the one to greet me. She wouldn't bother to greet me.

Instead, who was waiting for me at that platform? Dumbledore, calmly sitting on a bench, popping a lemon drop into his mouth with an almost casual cruelty as the truth of what Lily and I were to one another suddenly clicked together in my mind, like the gears and lens of a large telescope snapping into focus: Childhood friends. And nothing more.

It could be this that caused me to go back, to run away from the land of the dead like a banshee was nipping at my heels because, even though my soul was weary, beaten and bruised like the flesh of an orange, eager to rest, quite literally, in peace, I knew I couldn't go there with nothing to look forward to and nothing good to leave behind.

Nothing good to leave behind.

I smirked bitterly as I thought of the phrase. A near-death experience often changes a person or at least reveals another part of himself that he had hidden for a long time. For me, it was the desire to be a good person with a nice, lovely life, something that seemed to be an impossible dream before my encounter with the snake, but now was a taunting possibility, except that I had the sinking feeling that it wasn't meant to be.

Whenever I smiled or laughed along with everyone else at a joke that someone made in the staff room, I was met with several disapproving looks, like I was in a play and had spoken out of turn, embarrassing everyone around me. It was confusing at first, but as time went on I realized what the problem was. People had this very permanent view of me as a rather unpleasant potions professor turned Byronic hero with all the dark sulkiness and almost romantic bitterness that entailed.

In other words, they had slapped a label on me, satisfied with themselves that they had figured out the mystery and moved on and when I acted against that label, I was betraying them, turning loose the jigsaw puzzle that was my life, revealing some missing pieces that they had misplaced, which destroyed their accomplishment completely. I wasn't a person to them; I was a grotesque caricature acting out of turn and my worst "act out" to date was that I had survived.

I sighed as I looked out across the greenish gray water of the lake, the castle looming overhead, filled with people who purposefully would avoid me because, whether I was gloomy or nice, I scared them.

I picked up a rock and threw it savagely across the lake, not even bothering to try to make the rock skip across the surface, like I had during my first weeks here in an attempt to achieve a sort of Tom Sawyer-ian sense of child-like wonder and fun. I snorted in disgust at my naiveté.

I was doomed to be miserable forever.

"Professor?" I tossed another rock into the lake as Hagrid appeared to the side of me, looking bashful, shy, scared. The edges of my mouth curled, slightly upset.

"Hagrid," I said simply as I tossed another rock into the lake. I then looked at him, waiting for him to go on.

"It's the staff meeting," Hagrid said, as he quickly looked away from my gaze, terrified as ever. "It's in, about five minutes? And I didn't want you to miss it, as you seem, er, preoccupied and all."

The staff meeting. I had completely forgotten it and there was no way I could miss it, especially this one because it was the one during which the staff, like the good little employees we were, were expected to welcome a new addition to our ranks, one Hermione Granger.

I didn't know how to feel about Hermione joining the staff, as I knew her to be just as responsible and intelligent at the rest of the staff here, and I was sure that she would throw herself into the job with the earnest kind of zeal that one would expect of someone her age, a fresh change from having to endure yet another jaded educator. The only thing that I even slightly worried about was what her reaction would be toward me, but even this seemed unworthy of wasting time thinking about:

More than likely, she'd reject me too.

* * *

><p>"What's the last thing on the agenda?"<p>

"I'd have to say the upcoming game between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherin. We need to go over safety and protocol."

"Very well."

As Headmistress McGonagall continued to go over the typical safety procedures that were needed for these games, procedures that I could have recited to you sleep deprived, I gazed once more upon Hermione. She was much the same, with a mane of long, wavy brown hair, highlighted with almost invisible strands of gold and copper, big amber eyes with curly, thick eyelashes, and a perfect heart shaped mouth covered in creamy cherry colored lipstick that made her look like she could have been a 1920s flapper, modeling in a print ad for French cigarettes, smiling a cheeky, knowing smile over the curve of her shoulder.

Certainly, her presence ignited some amorous feelings within me, as I couldn't help but think of running my fingers through the forest of curls near the base of her neck while enveloping her plump, sugared cherry lips with my own, but I dismissed those thoughts as being misleading, materialized from my being alone for so long, not because I was harboring feelings all this time for her. No, it could have been anyone of the female persuasion doing this to me, from Lavender Brown to that dumb, young Weasley girl, although I shuddered upon thinking of the latter. No, perhaps not the Weasley girl, but anyone else was up for grabs in my desperation.

It wouldn't be Hermione though. At least that was what I thought as I gazed upon her adult figure, trying to conjure up the picture of her when she attended her first class with me, but I couldn't as the memory of it had dissolved into an untidy blur of color, like an unfocused kaleidoscope. I couldn't remember what she even looked like back then, the only thing really sticking out about the encounter was my cruel comment about her teeth. I gently bit the inside of my cheek as I thought about it, feeling the first flush of guilt about the incident. She didn't deserve my venom, especially since we were both cut of the same cloth, obsessive know-it-alls with our noses buried in books, but back then I couldn't look any further than my own suffering, lashing out like a frightened blind man with a cane… I should have known better.

I looked back up at her sweet face to see saffron colored light from the fire in the staff room hearth flicker across her regular features, her eyes alight with a focused excitement as she quickly scrawled notes in a parchment filled notebook. As she continued to write I watched as she lightly tapped the base of the quill with her finger and I watched as the ink changed from black to red, realizing that she was using a charmed, multi-ink quill to keep her notes even more organized and tidy.

I used a charmed, multi-ink quill on my first day teaching too.

"So, do we have everything settled?" Minerva asked, breaking me out of my thoughts, as she nodded in Professor Sprout's direction, as Professor Sprout was in charge of the minutes during our staff meetings. Professor Sprout nodded in return.

"That seems to be everything."

"Lovely. And Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up at Minerva, a warm, grandmotherly look gracing Minerva's features. Minerva smiled.

"Welcome back."

Hermione grinned as the rest of the staff mumbled half-hearted greetings as they were too eager to gather their belongings than to greet Hermione properly, not willing to dedicate another moment to the staff meeting. I watched as Hermione's sweet smile slightly flinched at everyone else's tepid response at her being here to teach. It was almost heartbreaking to watch.

She then, as if the world suddenly slowed down, carefully turned her head to look at me, to see if I would be just as unenthusiastic. In the past, I would have just stared at her, perhaps curling the side of my mouth into an unpleasant sneer before leaving, but I didn't do that this time. I couldn't do that. Instead, without any thought to hiding my feelings, I gave her a small, friendly smile in response. She looked surprised, but pleasantly so, as I swept past her.

As I walked past Hermione and saw her lovely, soft-lipped smile, I felt warm, my skin heating up like chlorine. It was a strange, feverish feeling, but it did not feel unpleasant. It felt . . . different. I looked up at Hermione again, her warm eyes boring into mine and as I smiled at her once more, the feverish feeling that was brewing within my body began to blossom like an ink drop curling within the depths of a glass of clear water, infectious.

And it was then that I let my eyes settle on Professor Flitwick, who was still seated at the table, struggling with his large cloth knapsack, stuffing in books and ink with a sloppy urgency.

I don't know why I did it, as I don't act impulsively, but looking back I think it had about as much logic connected with it as the proverbial young boy who pulls on a girl's pigtails to get attention. I wanted her attention.

There were little, torn up pieces of parchment left on the polished oak table, no doubt abandoned by Professor Dean Thomas, Hermione's former classmate, as he had adapted the nervous habit of ripping up the paper into little shreds a few days into his teaching. I usually found it irritating, but at that moment, it offered me an opportunity.

Using my wand, I flicked a piece of paper at Flitwick.

I flicked a piece of paper at Flitwick, which was the height of stupidity, something on par with what that idiot James Potter would have done, but I did it all the same and what's more? I flicked another piece of paper at him, because he'd been barely stunned by the first one.

He quickly looked up, giving me an accusatory stare, at which I looked behind me, then looked back at him, shrugged and said, "I don't know. Someone's throwing stuff."

Hermione suddenly started laughing, her laugh like an ice cream bell, which she tried to stifle with her small, delicate hand, but the damage was done and she couldn't stifle her laughter anyhow. Flitwick got up from the table, obviously irritated, glaring between the two of us and, before he left, he grumbled something that distinctly sounded like "_Youths!_" which made Hermione laugh even harder and caused me to crack a smile as well.

Flitwick slammed the door behind himself as Hermione dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, smiling at me all the while.

"Welcome back Granger," I said. I then left too. I didn't want to overstay my welcome.

* * *

><p>Over the next few weeks, I didn't register Hermione that much, or at least I pretended not to. I liked to see her welcoming smile flint through the halls like a golden ray of sunshine as she guided her students into the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, her lips either covered in a cherry, plum, or honey colored lipstick or this faintly tinted lip balm that smelled of cinnamon. I also liked to see the different kinds of robes that she would wear, dresses that suited pre-Raphaelite witches, princesses, and fairies, with fabrics like slippery silks, feathery velvets in jewel tones, and plush cashmeres as soft as a rabbits ear. The dresses would hug every curve of her hourglass body, which had become pleasantly plump since the war, like Sophia Loren. She now had more of a healthy glow, making her shine so brightly that I wanted to wrap my arms around her small waist, pull her close and bury my face into her sweetly scented curls, but that wasn't meant to be. At the time, anyway.<p>

We became friends instead. It happened when I was sitting in the small, private room in the south tower that I had discovered during my third year. I was sitting on the stone arch of the window, looking down at the school grounds, the students scurrying around like ants dressed in prep school clothing. I was smoking my Gauloises cigarettes, blowing the curling smoke out the window and thinking about Hermione in the same, strange, foggy way that I used to think about Lily so long ago, picturing her as the sweet, pleasant, perfect girlie-girl that I knew her to be. I liked girlie-girls like Lily, girls who always had a kind word to give, that were never too pushy and were popular among the others because of their sweet, girlish sensibilities. I took a long, dreamy drag from the cigarette that I was currently smoking as I thought about Hermione. I was falling in love with her.

"Crap!"

I jumped from my daydreaming as I saw Hermione run into my room, slamming the wooden door behind her. She leaned against the door, breathing heavily, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the sides of her face as I tried to fan out the offending smoke with one of the books I kept in the room.

"Miss Granger, are you okay?" I asked her as I tossed my cigarette out the window, afraid of accidentally offending her in case she didn't approve of cigarettes, and she certainly seemed the type. Hermione barely nodded at me. Her eyes were wide, flashing and her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, giving me the overwhelming need to protect her.

"I'm fine, it's just, _crap!_" I winced as she cussed yet again, slightly crumbling the angelic picture that I had of her earlier. "All those students. They can be so rude and obnoxious and I just had to get away from them, just for a little bit. Cretins. I hope they all kill each other."

I stood up from my place on the window, trying not to smile at her last few sentences, as I walked toward her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. I'll be fine. I just needed a short break before I cursed one of them into next year."

But I still wanted to help her, perhaps storm on in there on her behalf, set those students straight. "What exactly did they do?"

"It was a pair of Gryffindors," She explained, "They were pulling a prank on a first year, this frail little slip of a boy. Justin Reynolds? It was a jinx that pulled his pants down, showing his underwear to everyone."

My mouth turned into a vicious snarl, as the combination of Gryffindors and pant pulling pranks pushed several of my buttons, for obvious reasons. How dare they.

"Are they still in your class room?" I asked as I made my way toward the door. Hermione rolled her eyes and placed herself between me and the door.

"I'm taking care of it," she said, looking me in the eye, with absolutely no fear, unlike everyone else at the castle. "I don't need you to ride in there and save me."

I then started to become angry with her. I was a prideful man, too much sometimes, but I still didn't like my help being rejected, especially when it was laced with such accusations.

"You Gryffindors," I spat at her, my previous affection for her quickly evaporating like water spilled on a summer sidewalk. "You've always been too stubborn to ask for help. I've been teaching for far longer than you have. I am going in there and _I am_ going to take care of this for you. Do you understand?"

Instead of flinching, Hermione gave me a wry, cheeky smirk of a smile, batted her eyelashes at me and said in a high-pitched, teeny-bopper voice, "Ooohhhh! Ever since I was a little girl, I've always _dreamed_ of having some tall, dark, not handsome man sweeping in and saving me from the overwhelming torment of two third year boys because little old me just couldn't handle it on my own!"

She then started to laugh uncontrollably as I stared at her, confused, stunned, and blinking profusely.

And just like that I stopped falling in love with her, and started to like her immensely. I began to laugh as well as I pulled my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket.

"Bloody hell Granger," I said as I tapped out a cigarette for her to take. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"I guess you just don't scare me anymore, especially since your uncharacteristic paper flicking moment," She explained as she grinned sheepishly and took the cigarette. I flushed slightly.

"And, besides," She continued as she leaned forward to light her cigarette while I flicked on my Zippo lighter. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Agreed," I said, re-pocketing the lighter as she inhaled a mouth full of smoke. "And where are your cretins now?"

"Tied to their desk chairs, I expect," She said sweetly, blowing out smoke to the side of me. "Especially since I was the one who cast an unbreakable bonding charm on them in the first place." I snorted in laughter.

"Physical punishment?" I said in my typical, silky voice. "You cheeky girl."

We then giggled again as we continued to smoke together like delinquent school children whose friendships were being forged.

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><p>You know, it's a scientific fact that more reviews speed up update times. It really is. *wink, wink. Nudge, nudge*<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note 1: Again, don't own Harry Potter. Legalese, Legalese. J.K. Rowling does. Legalese, Legalese.

Author's Note 2: Thank you so much lovely reviewers! Please keep them coming! They motivate me to write more!

Summary: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends. How wrong we were." The muti-chapter story of Severus Snape & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov, 1st person. AU after the war.

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><p>"Miss. Hughes, what exactly is this?" I asked, picking up the silver ladle from her cauldron to reveal a nasty looking kind of brown sludge. The potion was supposed to be a dark blue. Tabitha Hughes - a young third year Hufflepuff who still wore her blond hair in prissy pigtails and had big glassy blue eyes that made her look like she was going to cry at any moment - stood by the potion, her head hanging in shame. Tabitha frustrated me, mainly because, if it wasn't for her anxious demeanor, she'd probably be the best potions student in her year.<p>

"Miss. Hughes…" I said again, disappointment lacing my voice as I tipped the mixture back into the cauldron, the texture of the thick soup making a disgusting plopping noise. "Why did you mess this up? It's a very simple potion. You shouldn't have had any problem with it."

Tabitha's bottom lip started trembling, her eyes becoming more glassy by the second as she quickly looked down at her shoes. "I…I…" but she couldn't get the words out. Just then, two Ravenclaw boys were in the back of the class, trying to stifle laughs, which were immediately silenced by my trademark glare. I knew exactly what had happened to her as the two boys ribbed each other. They'd been bothering her since the beginning of term and I hadn't done anything about it, mainly because I didn't know if I would have made things worse, but then I made up my mind. Something had to change.

I sighed as I quickly flicked my wand at Tabitha's brown sludge, causing it to disappear. "Class dismissed and Miss. Hughes? Stay after class please."

The kids noisily got up from their seats with the typical, sloppy clatter of hard-soled shoes and scrapping desks and chairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the Ravenclaw boys shoot Tabitha smarmy, arrogant leers, as if to say, _We got away with it…_

"Professor Snape!" I looked over at Russell Ashton, a frail, rosy cheeked boy who hung out with Tabitha and often had a stain of something or another dribbled down the front of his shirt. "Tabitha didn't do anything! It was those boys-!"

"—Thank you for the interruption Mr. Ashton, but I do believe that this does not concern you, yes?" I said, icily. He looked at me, and I was pleased to say, was scared as usual. I might have changed my demeanor slightly since the war, but I still demanded respect, especially from my students, even if I had to be nasty in order to receive it. "Now, get to your next destination before I take ten points. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head a little too quickly, like a bobble head doll.

"Good. Now go."

Russell took off like a dart as I pointed at Tabitha's chair by her desk. "Sit."

Tabitha did so as I sat at the bench next to hers. She seemed nervous to be near me and refused to look me in the eye. Instead she was pulling at the edge of her fraying, pleated skirt, rolling the fibers together with her fingers under the dungeon sky light, which was bathing her complexion with a blue-greenish hue. Her fingernails were covered with navy blue nail polish, which was now chipped at the ends and she was wearing several of those jelly bracelets that had suddenly become popular among the lower classmen. It was sort of pitiable how weak she seemed.

"Miss. Hughes?" I said, my voice stern. Tabitha's face flickered up upon my command, like a nervous sparrow. "What happened?"

Tabitha looked back down at her desk, obviously not wanting to get in trouble. I folded my arms across my chest as I felt my patience wear thin. "Was it those boys?" I ventured. Tabitha slowly nodded her head as her face turned red.

"I'm so sorry Professor-."

"—I know," I said, interrupting her, "But your sorries are not helping you here. You're going to have to tell them to lay off of you, otherwise you're going to keep embarrassing yourself. Grow _up_ Miss. Hughes."

Tabitha looked up at me, puzzled, her eyes filled with sheer pain, ready to say something, but I cut her off yet again. "But, Sir-."

"—You have the potential to be one of my best potions students in your year. I know that and you know that, but it is never going to happen unless you wake up from this anxious fog of yours, show some guts and _stand up for yourself_. Do I make myself clear?"

Tabitha then started to shake as she continued to look down at her desk, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She looked like she was almost going to have a nervous break down.

"Tabitha, look here," I said, using her first name as I pointed to my face. She looked up at me with her wet saucer eyes as she nervously licked her lips. I continued. "You can do this."

There was a long pause as she stared at me, then finally nodded her head. "Yes, Professor Snape." She finally whispered. She then took her book bag, hitching the strap along her shoulder, as she stood up from her seat with the awkward grace of a newly born flamingo and left the room, her shoes shuffling along the stone floor with scraps and squeaks. I watched her leave, hoping that I hadn't been too harsh, which was a strange feeling in that I hadn't really cared during my previous life. I was also hoping that during that afternoon's interdisciplinary staff meeting (the extracurricular teachers, like Runes, were excused) that Hermione and I were still friends. Yesterday's meeting had been by chance, and we had mainly stayed in the south tower room, smoking the last of my pack while talking about some of the past in a very shallow, delicate sort of way, neither delving too much or being overly familiar. It was nice, but I was hoping that she wouldn't change her mind about how she felt about me.

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><p>It turned out that I didn't have anything to worry about. Before our morning staff meeting (Briefing over new requirements for the N.E.W.T.s &amp; O.W.L.s) Hermione walked into the room with her large leather satchel, dropping it onto the table with a loud clatter, and sat next to me, smiling. And just like that, the seeds having been planted yesterday, we were friends, with her and I sitting next to one another, scribbling notes into our notebooks for the other to read, with me trying to stay stone faced as Hermione wrote "I'd rather watch an apple brown than be in this meeting" in her large, loopy hand writing. After the meeting was finished and everyone was gathering their things, Hermione caught my eye and I quickly mimed smoking a cigarette, bringing my fingers to my lips. She smiled, nodded and followed me out the meeting room, both of us being clueless to McGonagall's watchful eye.<p>

Once we made it outside the castle, it was drizzling rain, but we still walked out into the misty, green field, finding an eve to stand under by the castle wall, our backs leaning against the icy stone as we smoked my cigarettes and watched the poor, hapless first years run around the lake in their Phys. Ed. Uniforms, a class that had just been added that year, hence the reason that Dean Thomas was hired.

"You reckon you could run around that thing?" Hermione asked me as she took my cigarette from my hands and took a drag.

"Do I _reckon_?" I said, putting a slight southern twang on the word "reckon". "When did you start picking up such slang?"

"When I was a waitress in New Orleans, _duh_," she said. I started to laugh, obviously thinking she was joking, until I realized that she wasn't. I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"You're jesting," I said as I took the cigarette back.

She smirked. "Um, no. I was a waitress in New Orleans for a while, after the war.'

Long pause. I took another drag as I looked at the young woman next to me like a particularly puzzling potions problem. She was still dressed like the Gryffindor princess that she was, with a wine colored dress with an empire waist and embroidered with golden threads, her wavy, golden brown-red hair pinned back with Celtic designed pick done in brass with semi-precious stones, her sweet lips covered with her cinnamon lip balm… It was hard to imagine her in some southern bayou, with her hair pulled into a frizzy ponytail from all the humidity, wearing cut off shorts and a t-shirt, shouting orders to Creole line cooks while balancing a tray filled with plastic cups of watered down, Bay Breeze cocktails that she was going to serve to drunken frat boys and tourists. I snorted in laughter at the absurdity of it.

It was stupid.

"You totally don't believe me, do you?" she said as she took the cigarette back. I laughed a little more.

"No, I _totally_ don't," I said, mocking her. "You mean to say that, you took off to the states, on a whim, after everything you'd been through, to become some waitress in a mosquito filled swamp? I'm sorry that I find that hard to believe."

She just shook her head, her eyes glimmering impishly. She then pitched the cigarette into the field, tugged on my sleeve and said, "Come on. I'll prove it to you."

* * *

><p>Her quarters were exactly as I had pictured it, but completely different at the same time. It was decorated in warm, rich creams, ambers, and citrines. The sitting room had a low laying, velvet covered amber chaise couch and two leather armchairs creating a half-moon formation around the fireplace. In the corner, sitting on a polished oak end table was an old style, crank gramophone record player, the brass casting of the horn almost begging to play a record. To the side, underneath a modest sized crystal candelabra, was a square, chestnut table with four chairs and in the back was a small kitchenette, which surprised me, as I'd never seen one in a teacher's quarters before, particularly because the elves cooked our things, relieving any need for us to cook. As I would later find out, Hermione loved to cook, trying out new recipes.<p>

"Nice place you have here Granger," I said as I took in the surroundings, the coziness of the place making me feel slightly feverish once more, hitting my bloodstream like a hard drug, while the strangest thought crossed my mind before I could stop it. _I never want to leave…_

"I like it," Hermione said as she swept past me and gestured at the living area. "Make yourself at home." Hermione trailed off into the back toward her bedroom while I looked around, feeling more comfortable than I had in years. Until I saw it.

It was sitting innocently at the end of one of her small bookcases, a small, blue glazed bowl, with a few coins thrown carelessly into the bottom, a small keyring and an engagement ring. Or at least it was obviously an engagement ring, with a thick gold band and a large, heart-cut diamond glittering furiously in the waning sunlight outside. I picked it up and held it to the light, hoping that it was as cheap as it looked, that maybe it was a silly, little girl ring that Granger bought for fun from a muggle vending machine for a few coins during her gallivanting in America, the little ring being served up in a small 'Made-In-China' plastic egg with a dayglow top, the ring wrapped in an air sealed plastic baggie. But when I cradled the ring in my palm, feeling the heft of the metal and the stone, I knew that I was right the first time.

I swallowed thickly as I continued to cradle the ring, the truth delivering a sharp thud to my stomach, like a hard lump of ice. I knew that I shouldn't have cared, that Hermione and I were simply friends, but I think it was the wrongness of the situation that bothered me most. Anyone who even met her for a few minutes would know that, of all the rings to give the girl, a heart-shaped one certainly was not it. She was smart, sophisticated and independent and whatever cretin gave her such a prissy little ring clearly didn't deserve her... A certain, red-haired cretin, no doubt…

"I found it!" Hermione announced, taking my gaze off the ring to see her entering with a small steamer trunk, a triumphant smile on her ruddy face. She continued to push the trunk across the wooden floor toward me. "I almost thought that I forgot it back at my parents place. I was going to be absolutely furious with myself if I had left it-"

"—What's this?" I asked her, holding up the ring. She frowned at me, giving me a look like I was being an idiot.

"You mean you don't know?" she asked as she sat down on the floor by the trunk, unbuckling the straps. "The Daily Prophet certainly milked it for all it's worth."

"So you're engaged." I said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Hermione nodded, strangely not appearing to be too enthusiastic about the situation.

"Yep," Hermione said, unbuckling the last straps. "Ron. But, I'm assuming that you already guessed that."

"I did," I said as I tossed the ring to her, which she caught with flawless ease. "A strange choice for you. The ring."

Hermione shrugged as her lip curled slightly. "I know," she said as she looked down at it, then pocketed it, which made me raise my eyebrow.

"Why don't you wear it?" I asked. She quickly looked up at me, an undecipherable look on her face. I knew I was pushing it, asking her such an intimate question so early on in our friendship, but I wanted to know. Hermione looked at me for a few seconds longer, then smiled slightly, allowing me to relax just a little.

"I thought it was obvious," She said. "There is, of course, first, the kids to deal with. I don't want to lose it and two, look at it. It's kind of hideous."

I started to laugh. "You could say that again," I said. "God Granger, why didn't you tell him to get a different one?"

"I wanted to," Hermione laughed, "But you should have seen him, with his happy, eager face. He was so proud. 'I picked it out myself,' he said. I couldn't break his heart like that. He was so thrilled with himself, like a little puppy."

"Granger," I said as I stretched out on the couch, feeling my body relax despite the circumstances. "When you have a misbehaving puppy, you don't let it tear up your couch. You thwack it on the nose with a rolled up newspaper."

"Severus!" She mock gasped as she playfully hit me on the shoulder. "Ron isn't a misbehaving puppy." I couldn't help but flash her a toothy grin.

"And yet, from what I remember of his old test scores, he seems to have the intelligence of one."

Hermione shook her head at me, a playful smirk on her features, and I couldn't help but feel like we were flirting.

"I think that's enough Ron talk for one day," She said as she opened her steamer trunk with a flourish. "After all, I had something to show you."

Hermione waved me over to join her on the floor, which I did and we sat before her large truck, the cream colored lining starting to become more yellow with age, obviously an antique. The inside pouch sewn in the lid was filled to the brim with manila envelopes and papers, while the main compartment was filled with dozens upon dozens of LPs, their wax coated covers glistening like strange, futuristic jewels.

"See?" She said to me triumphantly as I ran my fingers across the slick record covers, picking them up to examine to titles. There was B.B. King, Eric Clapton, James Booker, Billie Holliday, Kermit Ruffins, plus a pile of other musicians that I had never heard of. The images on the covers varied, from blues singers smoking cigarettes in the shadowy back alley of a Crescent City bar to the inside of art deco apartments with stained glass lamps and Spanish moss hanging off of trees just in the background.

"This is a very impressive collection, really, but it doesn't prove anything," I said, looking up at Hermione. "You could have just picked these up from a London record shop for all I know." Hermione rolled her eyes at me.

"Ever the skeptic," she said as she took a manila envelope and undid the brass snaps, pulling out papers, placing them in my lap. "Here."

I picked up the papers, glancing at the varying nature of them. There were pay stubs from some bar called The Mid-Night Lounge on Chartres Street, made out to Hermione. There were also carefully written notes on voodoo rituals, all written in her handwriting and pictures of her with, as I predicted, her frizzy hair pulled into a ponytail, and her wearing a cute, fitted cotton t-shirt with a name tag pinned to the side.

I picked up one of her with a silly, string bean looking guy in his twenties, flashing a goofy smile and a large black man in a pinstripe suit and wearing a fedora, smiling a genuine smile. The two men had their arms around her shoulder in a friendly gesture. She looked so happy in the picture, which was a great contrast against how unenthusiastic she looked when I mentioned her engagement.

I looked up at Hermione and she smiled at me. "That's Kurt," she said, pointing to the string bean. "He was one of the dishwashers. He was so funny, kind of goofy, but such a sweetheart. And he taught me how to fish."

"Did he?" Hermione nodded as she pointed to the man in the fedora. "And that's Max. He owned the bar. He was great. Had this real dry, sarcastic kind of humor. You would like him." I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Because I'm so dry and sarcastic?"

"I couldn't imagine you to be otherwise," Hermione said, then she smiled the kind of smile someone gives when they're lost in the land of reminiscence. "We all had a lovely time together… I miss it once in awhile, you know?…"

Hermione trailed off as she looked down at the picture, a strange sadness that I'd never seen before clouding her face. She then looked at me. We stared at each other, the air humming around us in anticipation. I felt my face heat up once more, the feverish feeling returning, until she said, "Can I tell you something and you promise not to use it against me later?"

I nodded before I could even think of doing otherwise, looking at her brown eyes glitter with a darkness that I, for whatever bad reason, wanted to get acquainted with.

"I went over there because I just couldn't stand to be near the wizarding world any more, especially after the war," She said, tucking up her legs underneath her long dress, pulling them toward her chest with her arms. "It was such a relief to be somewhere completely different, with tourists, bus boys, jazz singers and strippers wearing pasties at dawn on their way to work on Bourbon Street. Even when I passed the voodoo shops in town, it gave me relief like no other, because I knew, with their cheap incense and plastic, shrunken heads that they were fake, that the real magic was in the countryside and, therefore, away from me. It felt so good that I could stay away from it until I decided to go near it, which I did, near the end of my visit. But you know the worst part?"

"No."

"I'd asked Ron before I left if he wanted to go and he said 'No' When he said that, I had never been so relieved in all my life."

I looked at her, confused, as she tucked her chin into the top of her knees.

"So…" I said, careful of what to say next, "You didn't want him to go with you?"

"Exactly," She said, looking up at me. "I like my solitude sometimes, something that he's never quite understood about me. He always takes it as an insult, no matter how many times I've tried to explain it to him, so I was relieved when he said no. That and I know he wouldn't have gone for living in some other city for a year. He would have just wanted to do the tourist thing for a week before he got homesick and complained."

I finally laughed and she laughed with me, breaking the tension. "That sounds like Weasley," I said.

"That _is _Weasley," She corrected as she stood up and took a record from her pile, smiling at me, the sadness washed away like an ocean wave.

"Now," She continued, her voice changing back to its cheerful tenor as she offered me a hand, "I say we cook up some dinner and listen to some jazz. Sound good?"

I smiled up at her as I took her hand.

"Perfect."

* * *

><p>Again, scientific fact that reviews speed up update time... it really does... That's a quote from 'Science Weekly'... For real...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note 1: Not mine. J.K. Rowling's. Legalese, legalese.

Author's Note 2 (An Apology): Hey everyone. Sorry this took so long as this week was unusually hectic (And I made a liar of science weekly. Shame. On. Me.), but on a good note, it's longer than the other chapters, 4,343 word count. Hope it's good and satisfactory. Thank you so much for your patience. - The Management

Thankie: Tychesong, who has been just uber-awsome (- That's totally a phrase, right?) & the rest of my reviewers (laurawillows, kimber, anon, tbird1965, MarrianneNorthmanCullen, Kayleigh-Fanfiction-Addict-21), thank you ever so much.

Summary: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends. How wrong we were." The muti-chapter story of Severus Snape & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov, 1st person. AU after the war.

* * *

><p>"Come on, hurry up-!"<p>

"-Or else what?" I said as I packed my dark brown leather satchel with the papers that I had been grading during breakfast. "What are you going to do, Miss Sassy, brassy waitress from _Naw-yuns_?"

"Again, you don't sound southern when you do that," Hermione said with a playful smile on her lips, hand on her hip as she stood by the table, waiting for me. "You just sound like Rhett Butler with lockjaw."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," I said, which earned me a giggle from her, as well as a playful slap on my shoulder.

And so our days went, with us being in each other's hip pocket, eating breakfast together in the Great Hall, then walking together to our respective classes, meeting later for lunch and tea and the possible quick ciggy, then in the evenings I would go to her quarters where she would cook dinner, often something quick that didn't require excessive care, but tasted just as delicious, like pasta with grilled chicken. It was there where we'd eat, talk, listen to her records, or sometimes we'd grade papers or read books in the silent comfort of each others company. Our days had finally clicked together in an easy, even rhythm, like a kinetic motion sculpture that people sometimes place on their desk in their office, lulling me into a sense of security that I sadly knew would end the day she married. The thought made me nauseous. Once she left to become Mrs. Ron Weasley, I didn't know what I was going to do with myself.

"My goodness!" Hermione continued to complain to the air as I slipped the last of my quills and ink into the side pocket. "It's like being friends with a Beauxbatons girl. Take your time, by all means. And don't forget your mascara Sweetheart. Otherwise, how are you going to bring out those big, brown eyes of yours?"

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" I said as I snapped my satchel shut, then scratched the side of my cheek with my middle finger. Hermione giggled loudly.

"Wow!" She said in shock, then lowered her voice. "I didn't know you could be so … _low brow_."

"I'm just keeping in mind the intelligence of my audience," I said as I gestured toward her, grabbing my satchel so I could walk with her. She slyly stuck her tongue out at me as we made our way out of the hall.

"Sit on it and twist, Sev."

We continued to walk together, giggling, in on our own secret joke, which was quite often the case, until we heard just outside of the hall the unmistakable chanting of "Fight! Fight!" My eyes and Hermione's quickly met, then we dashed off to a sprint, as being a teacher and hearing that chant, it could only mean one thing: A student fight had broke out and, more than likely, it was between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor.

"Move aside!" I said to some of the students that were gathered outside of the fight, Hermione following close behind, as we made it through the mob scene, catching snipits of the student's conversation here and there.

"Did you see that?-"

"She just went up to him and, WHAM!, popped him right in the face.-"

"-I didn't know Tabitha had it in her.-"

My mind paused upon hearing that and all I could think was, _My Tabitha? _Which was strange to think, but I had been thinking of her as my student lately, with the slight possessiveness that suggested as I felt oddly parental toward her. I often saw her sitting at the Hufflepuff table during meal times with a hard cover, advanced potions book, carefully marking the margins with her quill while sucking nervously on the end of one of her pigtails. She reminded me so much of me at that age that I wanted her to succeed, but she still hadn't stood up to the boys. Whenever she messed up a potion and gave me a reproachful look that seemed to say, _The boys did it_, I shook my head in disappointment and flicked away the offending potion with my wand, hoping that she would get the courage to do what she needed to.

I guessed today was that day.

"What's going on here?" I heard Minerva ask right as Hermione and I reached the outside of the circle of spectators that had formed. The Ravenclaw boys who had been tormenting Tabitha stood on one side of the circle next to McGonagall. One of them was nursing a gushing bloody nose. Tabitha was on the other side, being held back by several of her classmates. A wounded, yet murderous rage was flashing in her eyes as she struggled to get away from her friends and her knuckles on her right hand were cut and, even though it was politically incorrect to feel so, I couldn't help but be proud of her.

"Headmistress," The boy with the bloody nose whimpered. "She started it!— "

"—I did not!—"

"—She did!" said the other boy with out the bloody nose. "It was unprovoked. Just because we said something about her stupid studying.—"

"—She just punched me!—"

"—I'm well aware of that, Stebbons," Minerva said wearily. "You should probably go to the hospital wing. And Miss. Hughes? You will receive detention until further notice."

"But, they stole my new potions book!" Tabitha pleaded. "I had to look everywhere to get it and they just stole it.—"

"—We did not, you great cow!" The boy without the bloody nose sneered, walking up to her. He then hissed, "Now, why don't you just go play with your chemistry set?"

It was that phrase that did it, I think, as both Tabitha and I flinched at the same time, but she also responded by kicking him in the shins. Hard.

The rest of the crowd cried out "_ooohhhhh!_" as the boy doubled over on the floor in pain. And it was then that Tabitha said something that I would never had expected to hear her say.

"Sit on it and twist, _Bitch_."

The crowd _oooohhhh'd_ again as I stared at Tabitha in a wonderful, horrified kind of awe, feeling my respect for her suddenly grow like Jack's bean stalk as I resisted the urge to say, in a fatherly sort of way, _That's my girl_.

Instead, I turned to Hermione and said in my slow, silky voice, "That sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?"

Hermione looked up at me, blushing, as I heard Minerva say something like, "_That's enough!_" as she took Tabitha firmly by the arm, guiding her to the head office, as the students finally scattered on their way to their classrooms.

"I've never heard Tabitha cuss like that," I said as I gave Hermione a sideways glance. "I wonder where she got the idea from?"

"T.V.? Pop records?—" Hermione began to list, but I raised my eyebrow at her.

"—Or perhaps another young lady who cusses more often then she realizes?" I said as I walked alongside her. Hermione opened her mouth, ready to say something, but I cut her off before she could. "Don't worry Granger. I don't disapprove. In fact, I think it's bloody brilliant."

* * *

><p>But someone didn't think it was bloody brilliant, and that person was Minerva McGonagall.<p>

"I think you two know why I called you here and it has to do with that young Hufflepuff girl," McGonagall said, her eyes flashing between us like a corpse craving vulture, as we both sat on the two leather arms chairs that were seated before her desk. Hermione nervously played with the sleeves of her dress, overwhelmed by her first reprimand as a professor. I, meanwhile, sat back in my chair, relaxed and slightly bored as I plucked some stray lint off of my robes. I'd been reprimanded more then once and in this case, I felt more than guilt free.

"You both had your part to play in her delinquency," McGonagall continued. "Miss Granger, Tabitha said she walked in on you shouting that exact same…idiom that she used while you were fire calling Mr. Weasley.—"

I snorted in laughter. I couldn't help it, as the thought of Hermione calling Ron a Bitch was too much to take. McGonagall's jaw dropped in complete bewilderment at my immature display.

"_Severus!"_ she said, scandalized. "Just what has gotten into you? This is not a laughing matter. You're acting like a First Year."

I bit my lip and hiccupped back another laugh as McGonagall turned back to Hermione.

"Miss. Granger, you need to keep your private life just that: Private. Please, from now on, ward your classroom and quarters when you're anticipating having a… colorful conversation with someone else?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And Severus," McGonagall said, turning to me. "Miss Hughes informed me that you, instead of interfering yourself, told her to confront these boys on her own?"

"I did," I said simply. McGonagall glared at me.

"What were you thinking?" she asked me, a glimmer of disgust in her voice. "Why didn't you reprimand the boys yourself?—"

"—And then what?" I asked her, her archaic naiveté irritating me. "They would leave my class, tail between their legs, until they decided to take it out on Tabitha the instant there were no teachers about? If I reprimanded them, they wouldn't stop. They would just become more sneaky in regards to tormenting her. I'm glad that she stood up for herself. Those boys now know that she will act on her behalf, instead of looking to someone else for protection.—"

"—It's not the right way to go about this.—"

"—Maybe not," I agreed, "But all I know is that if I had done what she had, if I'd clocked James across the face instead of depending on teachers and prefects to protect me, then maybe things would have turned out differently."

I let my stinging comment hang in the air as McGonagall looked away from me to the surface of her desk, no doubt feeling guilty for letting some things in the past slide, for nominating Remus Lupin to be prefect.

Hermione pouted her lips, and said, compassion filling her voice, "Oh, Sev…" before she reached out for my hand and lightly squeezed the ends of my fingers.

My fingers suddenly felt clumsy and numb, as if they weren't apart of my body anymore, as Hermione's petite fingers still clasped my own in a sort of sweetly platonic hand-hold. The slight weight applied on my fingers felt like a strange, seductive, intimate iceberg, bobbing dangerously in the dark and I knew that if I were to look up at Hermione at that moment, locking eyes with her siren-like gaze, the iceberg and I would surely crash.

"Mmm-hmm!" McGonagall loudly cleared her throat as Hermione and I quickly let our hands drop to our sides, the weight between us disappearing like a camera flash.

"Miss Hughes is not the only reason why I called you two to my office," McGonagall said to us, as she tried to look authoritative, but a slight blush began to creep across her cheeks. McGonagall nervously smoothed out her blouse before she looked up at us, trying to will herself to go on.

"It has come to my attention, from several of the students and staff, that you have become rather…friendly with one another and I have to ask… Is anything occurring between you two?"

The air in the room suddenly became still as it hummed with a sort of low electrical buzz, like a grassy, wet field before a thunderstorm. The only thing that was moving were the flecks of dust swirling past the citrine slivers of light arching into the office from the long, vertical stone windows lined along the side of the room and I felt myself blink slowly, like a lizard looking at the desert sun. Of course, I had been expecting this for quite awhile and was shocked that it hadn't come sooner, but as McGonagall looked between us, her eyes flicking with an almost malevolent, analytical focus hidden by her quasi-grandmotherly gaze, I felt myself tremble slightly.

I heard Hermione next to me let out a slow, even breath, containing a relatively invisible quiver, like a squirming catfish caught beneath the surface of a frozen lake and out of the corner of my eye I saw that her cheek was slightly flushed with a guilty crimson. She pressed together her moist, soft lips as I pressed together my own.

When it came to our friendship, it wasn't what was seen that was scary, it was what was hinted at, like the portending shadows of a monster in a black-and-white horror movie.

We hadn't done anything with each other, but there was a great possibility that we could.

"No, there is nothing between us that extends into the…romantic realm," I finally said after a long stretch of silence. "Hermione and I are simply good friends. Nothing more."

Hermione nodded. "It's true," she said. "Besides, Ron and I are engaged.—"

"—I am well aware, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, "But.—"

"—You don't trust me," Hermione finished, hurt lacing through her voice. McGonagall sighed as she shook her head.

"No. I trust you Miss Granger, I really do, but I must do my job, especially when I have been cornered by no less than ten members of my staff who are concerned about the possible dalliance that is occurring between my defense against the dark arts professor and my potions master."

My felt my lip flinch in displeasure as I looked at Hermione's upset, ruddy appearance, thinking about all the busy-bodies who upset Hermione, who worked at here at this school with nothing better to do in their boring lives than to put in the minimal effort in their lessons plans, gamble on faculty-based, quidditch betting pools, and to accuse the two of us of having an affair. I felt the old anger in me start to boil, making me want to punch every one of those ten in the face for upsetting Hermione, starting with Dean Thomas, just because I could.

"Ten?" Hermione repeated as she stared at McGonagall, her fair complexion becoming even more ruddy as she looked a little shell-shocked, apparently still completely naive to the nature of Hogwarts faculty lounge politics, politics that I tried to avoid at every opportunity, hence one of the many reasons why Hermione's friendship had become so important to me. As long as Hermione and I were friends, together in our own private world, I could avoid the politicking. At least, for as long I was able.

McGonagall sighed once more and slowly nodded her head. "Unfortunately, that is the case," She said. "The gossip about the two of you has been flying thick lately. A few have even claimed to have caught you in the act."

I rolled my eyes. Of course they did.

"I am trying to put some of these rumors to rest," McGonagall continued. "That's all."

Hermione smiled in relief, bobbing her head slightly, but I felt my breath catch in my throat as I knew what McGonagall was playing at, something that went over Hermione's head completely.

"You need to use veritaserum, don't you?" I said, causing Hermione's eyes to widen in shock as McGonagall nodded.

"Precisely," McGonagall said. I sighed.

"Fine," I said, clapping my hands on my lap. "Let's bring on the humiliation and get this over with. You can go Hermione.—"

"—Wait a moment," McGonagall said, looking at me like I'd lost my mind. "I need both of you to do this.—"

"—No you don't," I said. "You just need to question me. There's no point in questioning both of us. You just need one veritaserum interrogation to clear our names and there's no point in putting Hermione through this. Just drug me.—"

"—I'm not drugging you Severus.—"

"—Drugging, poisioning, interrogating, whatever. You'll get the answers you need, especially since veritaserum causes me to babble excessively." McGonagall raised an eyebrow at me.

"It really does," I said in response to her suspicious looks. I know many people wouldn't believe that about me, that most people view me as the Teflon-coated spy that nothing could ever stick to, but I am not super human and veritaserum does affect me in a sick, dizzying sort of way, flooding my system more so than other people, causing me to break out in small patches of hives and give in to the effects with little, if any, resistance, much like how some people have allergies to peanut butter or pollen. It has always overwhelmed me and has caused me to babble, so much so that the interrogator has to tell me to stop talking.

The only way that I survived during the war was that I was very good at detecting when veritaserum was in something that I might drink, as the potion has a certain, almost invisible, ethereal sheen, especially when it's floating on the surface of tea or water, like a slick oil spill. It was then that I would pour in the antidote, which I usually kept hidden on my person, either sewn into my sleeve or held in a small, hidden compartment on a ring that I might wear. And, if worst came to worst, if I never had a chance to apply the antidote, I would spill the drink on myself, a little trick that I had become quite good at making look real, especially if I spilled hot tea on myself, as most people would never think that someone would dump hot tea onto their lap on purpose. It worked like a charm.

McGonagall looked between us, and then finally nodded in consent.

"Fine. I'll interrogate you Severus, but I'm trusting that you're not lying about how veritaserum affects you."

"You don't have to do this," Hermione interrupted, looking at me. "I can do it.—"

"—I know you can, 'Mione," I said. "But I don't mind. Only one of us should go through this and Minerva?" I said, turning to McGonagall. "I trust that you won't take advantage of me."

McGonagall nodded, a wry smirk crossing her face. "Of course."

* * *

><p>"Sit down on the couch," Minerva said, flicking her wand at her hearth in her private quarters, starting a roaring fire, the warmth soaking into my chilled skin. I carefully sat on the old couch, covered with a carpetbag floral and fairly smelling of cheap potpourri and mothballs. I sat on the edge, careful not to breath in the smell, as McGonagall busied herself making the tea, clanking a metal tea pot on the stove, the tin surface covered with thin scraps from delicate, but frequent use.<p>

As I looked around the room, seeing framed tapestries and faded books and doilies, I was hit with the sudden realization that I had never been in McGonagall's quarters and, what was more? That it seemed to carry a certain heavy sadness with it in that it didn't have the warmth that Hermione's quarters did. No, McGonagall's quarters were weighted and solemn with opportunities past and gone, instead resigned to matronly old age, like a surrender to the inevitable loneliness of life and, as selfish as this might sound, I decided right then that I didn't want McGonagall's fate to be my own.

"Here's the tea, with the, you know…" McGonagall said, handing me a china teacup with a grotesque, gauche flower pattern on the inside and outside of the cup. The brown liquid of the tea swirled delicately in the cup, like a deceptive rip tide, and on the surface was the tell-tale sign of the veritaserum in all its shimmery beauty. I gulped as I looked down at the liquid. I wanted to do this for my friend, but I always hated taking veritaserum, as it made me feel ill.

I quickly tipped back the liquid, swallowing it in one go, like it was sticky, glucose-saturated, cherry childrens cough syrup. I shuddered as I wiped my wet lips with the back of my hand, placing the teacup back on its saucer with a clatter. Instantly, the effects of the potion hit me, filling my stomach with a green sort of sickness. I felt patches of skin across my arms, legs and chest start to itch with rising hives and my tongue suddenly felt loose, ready, almost begging to talk as soon as possible. McGonagall sat across from me, primly clasping her hands in her lap as I gripped the side of the couch.

"So? Are you and Miss Granger having an affair?"

I shook my head 'No', perhaps a little too hard, as I said, "Oh no. No way. We're just friends. Good friends. Besides, she's engaged to that red-headed, toerag Ron anyway. Crap, why Ron? I mean, I know why, they've been friends forever, part of the Gryffindor mod squad, blah-blah-blah, but I don't, you know what I mean? I just thought that she was smarter than that. At least Potter has some smarts. Not much, but still, some, and that would be a better match for her, right? Dammit, why the hell would she want to take a dip in that gene pool? Those Weasley kids are so ugly too and Minerva, you really need to tell me when to stop talking because I won't otherwise.—"

"—Oh, I'm sorry," McGonagall said, suddenly sobering up as she was watching me with a horrified, yet amused expression. "Severus, stop talking."

I nodded quickly as I bit my tongue, thankful that she put a stop to my babbling, my first instance upon many.

"Okay, has anything inappropriate happened between you two?"

I snorted in laughter as the horrified/amused expression crossed McGonagall's face once more. "Pffft. Hells no. Except that we do smoke around the campus grounds. A lot. They're these Gauloises cigarettes from France? They're colored these weird, pastel, easter-eggy colors for who knows what reason, but the tobacco is, like, so good. Oh yeah, and Hermione and I make fun of the staff while we smoke. We're currently betting on how long Flitwick is going to grow his ear hair. Is he just waiting until it's long enough for him to braid or what? He can donate that ish to locks of love or at least that's what Hermione says. I don't even know what 'locks of love' is, but it sounds funny when she says it and _sweet-baby-jean-Minerva-you-MUST-tell-me-to-stop-talking.—"_

"—Oh! Stop talking!," McGonagall said, slightly flustered. "I'm so sorry Severus. You really do babble. You certainly weren't joking… Okay, I have one last question and you'll be free to go."

"Okay," I said back, tightly clasping my hands in my lap as I felt the hives on my body itch with a hyper-active urgency and my tongue jittered around in my mouth, eager to talk even more.

"What is the nature of your and Hermione's friendship?"

I felt myself smile a totally unrestricted grin, wider than I can ever remember smiling. I clasped my hands together, like some cartoony southern bell, and said in a sweet, almost swoony voice, "We're just, we're such great friends. Ever since the war, everyone has avoided me, or at least it felt that way, and I thought Hermione would be the same but she isn't. She isn't. She's so understanding and funny and we joke around with each other all the time. She is also smart, like you and I always knew, right? We can talk for hours about academic theory and music and literature… She's not only smart, but she's fascinating, which is so different because, lets face it, most of us book-smart people can be boring, myself included, but she's different that way and I think it's so wonderful that she's as interesting as she is, that she was a waitress in New Orleans! Did you know that? And she's interesting and smart and independent and sassy. You gotta like the sass and whenever we spend time together, I'm so happy for this accidental friendship. She makes me feel like I did with Lily, but better.—"

And for the first time in my veritaserum-taking history, my babble halted to a stop as my cheeks flushed. McGonagall's mouth slightly dropped open as my fingers covered my mouth in shock.

"When we were friends. When Lily and I were _friends_," I reiterated, trying to make up for my verbal misstep, but it was too late. Damage done.

"I understand what you were trying to say," McGonagall said, a sad kind of pity filling her voice. "I won't ask you any more questions Severus and you can stay here for the next hour until the veritaserum wears off."

I nodded glumly as McGonagall flicked her wand at my teacup, causing it to disappear.

"The only thing that I ask you to do right now is listen to me and, no, I don't want you to respond." McGonagall continued as I nodded my head again, the previous, cozy warmth from the fire suddenly feeling overwhelming and oppressive, causing sweat to break out along my collar, irritating the fine layer of hives laid across my skin even more.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, Severus," McGonagall said, her intense gaze boring into me like a diamond-tipped drill. "I'm happy that you have this friendship with Hermione, I really am, but you must not wrap yourself in it completely, because if you continue to do so, you're going to lose yourself, like you did with Lily, and you might lose Hermione in the process. Please, take my advice, and distance yourself from her, just a little bit, otherwise the consequences are going to be dire."

The problem is that I rarely listen to good advice.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note 1: Again, don't own Harry Potter. Legalese, Legalese. J.K. Rowling does. Legalese, Legalese.

Author's Note 2: Thank you so much lovely reviewers! Allyll, Worrywart, Anon, Dragon Ashes, Tbird1965, Mrs. HH, & SemiCharmed, thankie for the input and reviews! Please keep them coming! They motivate me to write more!

And now presenting…: my new, awesome motivational guru of a beta... _**TycheSong!**_

- BRING OUT THE FLOATS! WAKE UP THE DRILL TEAM! STRIKE UP THE BAND AND LET'S GET THIS VIRTUAL TICK-TAPE PARADE GOING!

Yes, she is so great that she deserves that virtual ticker-tape parade and then some (particularly chocolate and high-priced Manolo-Blahniks)

She is the one responsible for the wonderful editing that you enjoy while reading "Friendship Cluttered", future, past and present. She's kind, imaginative and patient when I keep making typos and spelling errors... excessively. Thank her in the review section, because she is just that wonderful. Thank-you.

Summary: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends. How wrong we were." The muti-chapter story of Severus Snape & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov, 1st person. AU after the war.

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><p>"Wow, you're cooking away."<p>

Hermione flashed me a smile from the steam filled kitchenette as I walked into her quarters, quickly unwrapping my black cashmere scarf and unbuttoning my slate gray wool jacket, tossing the garments onto the couch. Coming from the inside of the bone chilling cold of the rest of the castle to the warmth of Hermione's quarters made me feel like I got air-dropped into the tropics.

"What are you cooking?" I asked her as I walked toward the kitchen, the steam coming off of boiling pots and pans, hitting my cheeks. Hermione smiled at me, already changed into her loungewear, which was a loose, gray cotton top, black leggings and black ballet flats. Her curly hair was piled up into a sloppy, Grecian bun, a blue patterned scarf tied over her hair. Her sweet face was peering into the large pot that she was currently stirring with a large wooden spoon.

"Something special, especially after what you went through with McGonagall for me. It wasn't too bad, I trust?" Hermione responded, turning to smile at me, her chandelier, Bohemian earrings tinkling with her movements.

"It was bad in that I know I made a complete fool of myself," I said.

"How's that?"

"I became a little… I don't know… Girlish?" Hermione snorted.

"Wow. I wish I would have stuck around for that. Severus Snape: Girlish," Hermione laughed again as she stirred the pot before her. She then looked at me, her eyes twinkling. "Anyway, now that that unpleasantness is over, we can have dinner. I think you'll like it."

I raised my eyebrow at her as I scanned the food. Something orange and soupy was cooking in the pot she was stirring, next to that was something else that looked slightly yellow and mushy, like mashed potatoes, but not quite. And in the last pot was rice mixed with red beans, sausage, and several plant-looking things that seemed vaguely menacing. I wrinkled my nose at it.

"That doesn't look like pasta," I said. "Or kippers. Or—"

"—Or the other boring clap-trap that you usually eat?" Hermione asked sweetly, adding more cayenne pepper to the orange looking soup. "I wanted to make you something special."

A wicked smile slowly spread across my face as I realized what she had done. I'm not what you'd call a culinary adventurer, usually sticking with conventional staples, as I equate eating exotic cuisine with later having exotic heartburn. This is something that Hermione knew about me, but found irritating because she wanted to try other recipes. It appeared that she had finally found a way around my picky preferences…

"So, this is the special meal you're making?" I inquired mockingly. "Something exotic that you've been wanting to cook and now you are cooking it, under the guise that you want to cook something special for me after the McGonagall mishap? You really are the most clever witch of your age…"

Hermione flushed prettily as she continued to stir the pot. I smiled flirtatiously as we locked eyes.

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Slytherin?"

Hermione smiled as she licked the end of the wooden spoon and put it on the counter. "I don't need to be in Slytherin in order to be bad."

I gulped thickly as the sentence rang in my ears. Hermione flashed me a satisfied, minx-like smile as she pulled down a bottle of red wine from the cabinet, a moderately priced Zinfandel.

"Just be a good boy and open the wine, Severus." She handed me the bottle of wine as we gave each other covert, teasing smiles. I turned away from her and pulled a steel, winged corkscrew out of the drawer next to me. It's true that I could have opened the bottle of wine with magic, but it wasn't nearly as much fun.

"Why would McGonagall care anyway?" Hermione asked as she stirred the pot once more.

"What do you mean?"

"About us. If, hypothetically, we were in a relationship, why would she care?" Hermione repeated, sliding what looked like chopped up pieces of a suspicious looking, slimy vegetable into the orange soup. "We're consenting adults, you're not in a position of power over me and vice versa… Unless we were madly fucking each other on top of your desk during class time, I really don't see what the big deal is."

I smiled to myself as I poured two glasses of wine. "Wow Granger. What an image to leave. Now I won't be able to get any work done if I sit at that desk…"

Hermione flicked her kitchen hand towel jokingly at me before tossing the towel across her left shoulder. "It's not my fault you're a pervert."

"I would argue the opposite," I said, handing her a glass. "But we'll agree to disagree."

She shook her head at me, smiling. "But really Sev. What's exactly the big deal? Are all of us supposed to be chaste? Do we have something like a morality clause? How is it anyone's business?"

I smirked as I sipped from my glass of wine, the sharp tang of alcohol, red currents and raspberries hitting my mouth. "Did you even _bother_ to read your teacher's manual when you first arrived here?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not really."

My eyes widened as I looked at her. "Who _are _you?" Hermione giggled sweetly.

"I know, I know," She said. "You figured that I would not only read it, but re-read it and highlight it too. In different colors. With footnotes"

"I did," I said, sitting down on the side countertop as I watched her cook, "But if you didn't read the dam thing, I will take it upon myself to inform you of the finer points of the 'relationship 'portion of the manual. We are allowed to be engaged to one another, we are allowed to be married to one another, but we're not allowed to date one another."

Hermione's jaw dropped open completely, her eyes wide in disbelief as I laughed at her. "'Mione, you're catching flies," I warned as I sipped from my wine once more.

"I know," she finally said, somewhat stunned. "But, that's the most stupid fucking thing I have ever heard. I mean, _why?_"

"Ah, the why," I said as I took another small sip. "I don't know if you remember her, but, it was during your fourth year. Professor Rebecca Clayworth? She taught early wand theory for First Years."

"I don't remember her, but I wouldn't have had her as a professor."

"Thank goodness," I said, shaking my head as I thought of her. When I met her, I found Rebecca to be strange, especially in that she always had her makeup heavily caked on her face in weird, bright, trendy colors and that she wore borderline inappropriate short, pleated schoolgirl skirts, as if she wanted to be a student again. She was the type of teacher that came back to school because, after floundering in the real world for awhile, she found that she couldn't really fit in anywhere else, that she was trying to relive her glory days in school when she was a Hufflepuff chaser and, apparently, quite popular. She did this by decorating her classrooms in quidditch memorabilia, letting her favorite students come and go as they pleased and by serially dating staff members in a weird attempt to appear, once again, sexy and popular. She had propositioned me several times, and even though I was tempted by the idea of a one-night stand, in the end I always said no. I'm glad I did.

I explained all this to Hermione, who smirked slightly as she brought down dishes from the cabinet.

"So, you were that lonely?" She said teasingly.

"Yes. No. But that's not my point," I said, a flirtatious smile spreading across my face once more. "It was the backlash with one of her relationships. It was Karkaroff, actually."

Hermione snorted. "Really?"

I nodded. "She slept with him a few times, the usual, but then she fell in love with him. Heaven knows why… And after he had his bit of fun, he rejected her. She went ballistic. Had a complete mental break down. Tore apart his quarters, wrote 'Bastard' in lipstick all over the mirrors… We found her drunk and crying in the middle of his bed."

Hermione's fingers fluttered to her lips in concern. "That's… That's so sad."

"It was," I agreed, suddenly somber. "I remember that night giving her one of my stronger sleeping draughts… She was pushed to the edge and she wasn't that balanced to begin with. I'm surprised the school was able to hide it as well as it did."

There was a long pause. Hermione shook her head as she grabbed silverwear from a drawer. "And that's why we can't date each other?" She finally said.

"It was made school policy the moment she left for a mental health retreat in the States," I said as I pulled down two cotton napkins from another drawer. "I understand it, but it isn't logical. When it comes to relationships, they can become so volatile. Nothing is guaranteed. I don't think a policy that forbids dating will prevent trouble. It will happen whether that policy is there or not."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "Not only that but, engagements and marriages don't guarantee happiness either. It's silly to think that they will."

I licked my lips as I watched Hermione ladle the orange soup into two bowls, a dark sadness invading her eyes. Before I bothered to even stop, I said exactly what I was thinking.

"We're not talking about school policy anymore, are we?"

Hermione quickly lifted her head as she picked up the two bowls, looking at me carefully. She walked toward the table, setting the bowls to the side of each place setting as I watched her carefully weigh in her mind what she was going to say next.

"I know you don't like him, which makes it hard for me to talk to you about the few problems that Ron and I have, that's all," She finally said as she wiped her fingers on the kitchen towel draped across her shoulder, "And please note that I said _few_." She then tipped her head to the side as she looked at me with an unreadable expression. I looked from her to the deep red contents of my wine glass, slowly spinning the stem between my fingers as I thought of what to say next.

"I don't like him," I finally said. "But you do have to keep in mind that I'm a selfish bastard who wishes to keep his friend here." I smiled slightly, then looked up at her to see that her eyes had softened and the most fragile of blushes was coloring her cheeks. She slowly walked over to me until she stood in front of me. She picked the kitchen towel up off of her shoulder and placed it next to me on the counter. We then locked eyes.

"And Ron poses a threat to that wish?"

"Precisely."

Her eyes softened even more to that of a woodland doe's, her smile creating a sweet curve, as she tucked a stray piece of my black hair behind my ear and she said, "You know, I wasn't going to say anything, as it might cheapen the sentiment, but… I adore how you've changed." She then planted a slow, smoldering kiss to my left temple.

A sort of ocean roar filled my ears, like the kind one hears when they pick up a large seashell and try to listen to the cavity inside. My eyelids fluttered shut as the softness of her kiss melted into my skin. The rest of my senses suddenly became heightened and I became overly aware of my surroundings. The slick feel of the cold marble counter top beneath my fingers on the left, the weight of the wine glass in my right, the scent of cayenne pepper, apples and flowers drifting across the air like a perfumed orchard on a hot summer night, the roar still filling my ears…

"Are you okay?"

My eyes flicked open as I found myself face to face with Hermione's amused smile. "You seemed a little bit out of it there," She continued. I nodded.

"I'm fine," I said and then held up my wine glass. "I just think this is hitting me a little hard."

Hermione laughed a sweet, little tinkling laugh, like a small bell. She then squeezed my arm in a very innocent, platonic manner and said, "Come on. We better eat, before it gets cold."

* * *

><p>"Don't you dare—"<p>

"—Or else…?"

"And you didn't want me to cook anything outside of your picky regimen." Hermione said, shaking her head, as she sipped her wine, eyeing my fork, which was poised to steal away the last sausage from her red beans and rice.

"Well, from now on, you can serve me whatever you want. Red beans and rice, grits, gimbo—"

"—_Gumbo._" She corrected.

"Whatever," I said, allowing my fork to hover over her dish. "As long as you cook it, I will happily eat it. That's a promise." Hermione smiled at me over the rim of her glass.

"Is that so?" I nodded as I speared the sausage and popped it into my mouth with great relish. She shook her head at me, playful smile on her lips once more.

"Great. Thai food tomorrow then," She said as I stood up from the table, picking up her plate and mine. "And you'll do the dishes."

"Naturally," I said as I put the dishes in the sink, then flicked my wand at them, the soap and water suddenly springing to life as the kitchen towel whipped across the room, ready to dry the dishes at a moments notice. Hermione smirked.

"That's cheating."

"How exactly—?"

Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping noise at Hermione's door, silencing us. We both froze, glancing at each other with quizzical expressions.

"Hermione, it's me," Came the voice from beyond the door, a voice that I instantly recognized, causing me to sneer involuntarily. It was the last Maurader standing, the ex-tormentor-enabler: Lupin.

"_What the Hell's he doing here_?" I hissed. Hermione gave me a look as she walked toward the door.

"Be nice Sev. The war is over. No need to dwell."

"Easy for you to say," I said grumpily, crossing my arms across my chest, as watched her put her hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door. I felt my nerves curl within my belly like a ferocious cat keeping one keen eye open, ready to strike at a moment's notice. I know that I should let the past go when it came to the Mauraders. I know I shouldn't hold it to my chest like a well-worn security blanket, but like the proverbial alcoholic or cigarette addict who promises themselves, "_Just one, then I'll quit_," my addiction always comes roaring back, demanding to be fed with my self-pity.

Hermione swung the door open, glowing with hospitality, as she said, "Remus! Come in." Lupin — bags under his eyes and his clothing as shaggy as ever — met her gaze with a shy smile.

"Thank you, Hermione, but I'm not going to stay, I'm afraid. I was just wondering if you knew where Severus was—"

Lupin suddenly stopped talking as he saw me standing by the alcove leading into the kitchenette, his eyes wide in shock as his lips formed a perfect little 'o'.

"Severus," He said, his voice betraying the bewilderment he was clearly feeling. "I tried to fire call you, but you obviously weren't in your quarters, so I floo'd myself here and talked to McGonagall. She said I should go check with Hermione. I thought she meant that Hermione would know where you were, not that you'd…Uh—"

"—Actually be here?" I finished for him, feeling impishly giddy at the fact that my being in Hermione's quarters unnerved him so. I took a large drink from my glass of wine, attempting to hide the grin that was spreading across my face. He nodded quickly.

"Exactly," He said as he walked in, Hermione closing the door behind him. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"No. We were just finishing dinner." I said as I placed my glass on the table, glancing over Lupin's face as I delighted in watching the phrase, _We were just finishing dinner_, have its full impact on him. Most people have always said that I am, to some degree, sadistic, which is a charge that I always protested against.

However, there is a grain of truth to every lie.

"Oh, that's good…" Lupin said awkwardly as he sat in the chair that Hermione offered him. He licked his lips and glance up at me. I gave him a controlled smile and said; "Would you like some wine? Although I think we finished this bottle…"

I held up the bottle, looking through the dark green glass to see that it was indeed empty. I then turned to Hermione and said, "'Mione, do we have any more wine?"

"In the cupboard," she said warmly as I watched Lupin's mind reel once more at my using such a casual nickname. I turned to the kitchen as I smiled to myself wickedly, trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling inside of me like a pressure cooker.

"So, what's on your mind?" I asked as I pulled down a bottle of the cheapest wine Hermione had, an off-brand Merlot that I found overly sweet, and took out the cork.

"Um, well, it was something that I meant to tell you privately."

"You can speak freely. I don't mind," I said, coming back out to the kitchen with the bottle and three glasses. I poured the first glass and handed it to Hermione. "Whatever you have to say, I'll probably tell her anyway." We then shared a sort of conspiratorial smile, causing Lupin to squirm even more.

"What is it?" I poured Lupin half a glass, placing it on the table in front of him as I sat down next to Hermione. Lupin gulped nervously as he looked between us, obviously unnerved.

"I… Umm… I work for the Wizengamot law department, as you well know, doing clerical work," Lupin stuttered slightly, looking at the contents of his glass instead of me. Hermione nodded, aware of the fact, even though I wasn't. "Well, we have a new solicitor working there, Valmont Scott. He mainly goes by his last name… Anyway, he's ruthless. Completely ruthless. I've never seen a man as blinded by pure ambition and… he's filled with such animosity, such anger… he scares me. He scares everyone in the department—"

"—And how does this affect me, exactly?" I asked, not wanting to hear the rest of his rambling story about how a big, bad government-appointed solicitor scared him.

"Well, he's been building a case… against you." He almost whispered the last part, eyes flickering up at me to see what my reaction would be. I looked at him, skeptical, not believing him, thinking that he was overreacting. It sounded stupid to me, as I hadn't done anything that would warrant such an action. I hadn't even done anything to violate school protocol. Instead, it sounded like the cheap class action law suits against faulty birth control or mood elevators that I would see advertised late at night on television. I stayed in small, sketchy muggle motels while I biding my time as a double agent, as the Ministry of Magics' tentacles never reached far enough to explore outside the wizarding world. This supposed "case" against me that Lupin was talking about with the utmost sincerity was weird, suspicious, and ludicrous. What exactly…?

"What exactly is he charging me with?" I asked.

"Killing Dumbledore, but not because you were a double agent, but because you were still aligned with Voldemort. And that you still are." Lupin then pulled a dark, black file tied with a coal colored twine out of the inside of his jacket and tossed it onto the table with a sickening thud. I heard Hermione whimper slightly as she looked up at me, worry etched onto her face. I wanted to tell her, "_It'll be alright_," but I stopped myself. I didn't want to scare her, especially if we were unsure if we should be scared in the first place.

"This is everything that I could make copies of and sneak past him," Lupin said, then looked up at me, serious. "I felt that you had a right to know, especially after everything you've done for all of us."

"Thanks Lupin," I said as I stared at the foreboding file. Lupin slowly got up from the table, drinking his wine in one quick gulp.

"I better go," he said, "but I'll keep you updated if I learn anything more."

"Please, do." Hermione said as she got up from her seat to see Lupin off. She grabbed her wand off the end table by the couch in the living room and flicked her wand at the fireplace, causing it to roar to life. "Floo powder is in the metal bowl to the left. And thanks, again."

Lupin nodded his head. "Of course." They shared a quick hug before Lupin floo'd back to his home, where his children must have been waiting for him.

The room was silent as Hermione walked back to the table, the worry spreading across her face with alarming speed.

She then sat next to me, and covered my hand with her small one as we both stared at the insidious file laying on the tabletop.

* * *

><p>...And now the court case plot thread has been added into the mix. Good times.<p>

Additionally, according to my outlining calculations, this story will be 16 Chapters long. Aren't you happy that outlining was burned into my mind's retina?

Last, but not least, give kudos to my awesome beta Tychesong... and check out her fantastic SS/HG stories too. You'll be happy you did.

Thanks for reading, as always… ^_^ -TomWithout


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note 1: Again, don't own Harry Potter. Legalese, Legalese. J.K. Rowling does. Legalese, Legalese.

Author's Note 2: Thank you so much lovely reviewers! aliceAmnesia, Kufuffelupagus, worrywart, Kayleigh-FanfictionAddict-21, hnwhitlock2000, & anon, thank you for the kind words and reviews! Please keep them coming! They motivate me to write more!

And a special thank you for: my awesome motivational guru of a beta... TycheSong!

She is so great that she deserves chocolate, high-priced Manolo-Blahniks, and then some.

She is the one responsible for the wonderful editing that you enjoy while reading "Friendship Cluttered", future, past and present. She's kind, imaginative and patient when I keep making typos and spelling errors... excessively.

She also puts up with my malfunctioning internet connection.

Thank her in the review section, because she is just that wonderful. Thank-you.

Summary: "We were so foolish, thinking that we could just be friends and only friends. How wrong we were." The muti-chapter story of Severus Snape & Hermione's friendship-turned-relationship. Told fr. Severus' pov, 1st person. AU after the war.

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><p>"Focus, Mr. Kilarny," I said sternly. "You drop those ashwinder eggs, I will personally see to it that you have detention for a whole month. With Professor Trelawny."<p>

Toby Kilarny, a swaggering Gryffindor Third Year that turned to absolute nervous mush when dealing with me, nodded nervously as he slowly levitated the temperamental eggs into a glass jar filled with cotton balls. The eggs rested gently on the cotton. Toby grinned as he sealed the jar with a lid and quickly labeled it.

"Good job." I said begrudgingly. Toby gave me a toothy smile, staring for a fraction of a second longer then I liked, clearly pleased with himself. Too pleased. I sneered in displeasure.

"What are you looking for? A caramel sweetie?" I snapped at him. "Miss Hughes needs help collecting Belladonna near the lake. _Go._"

Toby gave a nervous start and galloped toward the lake, scared of me once more. I smirked as I felt the slightest ghost of movement flutter behind me and I smelled apples, cayenne pepper and flowers. She rested her small hand on the back of my shoulder as a cautious smile curved my lips. Hermione.

"You're funny," She said, looking out over the small section of forbidden forest that we had brought our students to so that they could learn how to properly scavenge for potion ingredients on their own. I smiled.

"How so?"

"This whole big, bad wolf thing. It's such an act."

"I assure you, it is not."

"Then why are you so nice to me?"

"Hmmm, I don't know," I said, flirtatious, "I must like you or something."

And there was my burden. Her, with her warm brown eyes and soft lipped smiles. We were closer than ever, making jokes, eating her exotic dinners, reading in each other's calming, quiet company… Ever since Lupin had dropped off the insidious, black folder, the same folder that I refused to read over, hiding it deep within one of my dressers, Hermione's company had become more important than ever. I felt safe around her, wrapping myself in the comfort of our friendship, keeping the darkness of my past out of my life.

But now, something else was cropping up, threatening to crush what comfort I had. It was the stolen glances, the flirtatious banter, the soft, barely there caresses… More and more often I found my traitorous mind wondering, in bits and spurts, about what it would be like to hold her, to have her lean against my chest while I absent mindedly played with her curls, to kiss her on her lips, delighting in the smear of cherry red lipstick or lip balm across my own…

My state of mind scared me, threatening to destroy what happiness I had with Hermione. We couldn't date, as the universe had cheated us of that pleasure long ago. She was engaged, I was too old, we worked together and our friendship would be obliterated if we didn't work out. That last reason was the most important one, the reason why I couldn't strike up a romantic relationship with her if I tried. Her friendship was far more important to my sanity then to risk it casually, like a cheap casino poker chip, in a rigged game that I was sure to lose.

In life, the house always wins.

And it's never fair.

"Come, sit," Hermione said to me, patting a flat part of the large, black obsidian rock that she was sitting on, her voluminous, royal blue, petticoat skirt engulfing her, making her look like an overgrown, blossoming flower. I smiled and sat next to her, looking out at our students gathering what they needed, now that the dangerous ingredients were already collected. It had been her idea, to combine our third year classes, as she complained that her DADA class never got to go out to the forbidden forest to pick up any survival skills and I complained that the brats didn't know how to collect potions ingredients themselves, instead thinking that they all came from nice little shops in either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, wrapped in pretty packaging, instead of out in the wild.

So we combined our two classes so that all the houses were working together and I was pleased that we had, especially for Tabitha's sake. Ever since her school yard fight, her confidence had grown, as had her potions skills and now, since we had combined classes, she found a new friend in Velma Walker, another brilliant potions student from Slytherin who had jet black hair shaped into a bob cut and a sharp, sarcastic tongue that could take down anyone's insult and throw it back at them. The two girls were inseparable, currently working together, cutting a patch of knotgrass near the lake and storing it in jars. I was pleased to see such interhouse unity. It was pretty much unheard of when I went to school, lasting briefly where Lily and I were concerned, but, as I looked at Hermione next to me, smiling, maybe times were changing?

"I'm glad you took an interest in her," Hermione said with a smile as she pulled a wax paper packet filled with dark chocolate covered raspberries from her pocket. I frowned at her as she held out the packet for me.

"Who?" I asked, taking a few of the raspberries from her packet and popping one into my mouth.

"And he asks, 'Who?'" Hermione said with a grin, taking a raspberry for herself. "Tabitha. I think it's cute that you care about her so much, especially since she's a student outside your house. Under your guidance, she'll make a fantastic potions mistress."

"All I heard was that you thought I was cute," I said, smirking. "I don't do 'cute'"

"You're not cute?" Hermione said, looking at me. "Then you don't see what I see."

I flushed despite myself. And there it was again, those dangerous waters that Hermione and I could easily drown in. I tucked my hands into my frock coat, desperate to do something with them, something other than to thread my left hand through Hermione's own, feeling grumpy that I couldn't…

"You liar," I said in a warning tone. Hermione laughed as she shook her head at me.

"I am not," she said. "I'm just pointing out the obvious, from one friend to another. You put yourself down so much Severus. You could get any girl you wanted."

"_Not any girl_," I thought angrily, but I didn't say what I was thinking. Instead, I carefully thought about her words, observing the completely earnest look on her face. She was trying to compliment me, like any good friend would do, boost up my ego, cheer me on to a better life…

"Now you're really lying." It came out far more snotty then I intended, my nasty mood taking over as I stuffed my hands further into my frock coat pocket, like a pouting school boy. Hermione's face turned slightly grave as she looked at me.

"I'm not," She whispered.

She then took my left hand from the inside of my frock coat, cupping the fingers so they create a bowl, my palm turned upward toward the sky, the warmth of her skin brushing against my own. I looked into her warm brown eyes filled with concern only meant for me.

"Eat some more chocolate," She said kindly, tapping out several of her dark chocolate covered raspberries from their wax paper pouch and into my hand. "It'll make you feel better."

* * *

><p>It was when the clock struck twelve that I stirred from my place on the couch in her living room, my eyelids heavy with sleep, my novel left open on my chest.<p>

"Sevy?" I heard her whisper somewhere above me. I frowned, slowly closing my eyes once more. I didn't mind my name being shortened, but the cutsy use of 'Sevy' irritated me.

"You can call me 'Sev', but never 'Sevy'," I grumbled, turning toward the inside of the couch, my book falling to the floor with a clatter. "I greatly detest baby talk. It gives me the heebies."

I heard her contralto chuckle as she gently shook my shoulder.

"It wouldn't be you if you didn't detest the baby talk."

"And don't you forget it."

"Come on," She said, pulling at my shoulder. "It's midnight. We need to go to bed."

I smirked as I turned to look at her, finally opening my eyes. "Is that an invitation, Miss Granger?"

She swatted the side of my leg, a smile playing across her lips. "Up," she said, "You need to go to bed, but, before you do, I need to talk to you about something."

I felt my stomach drop upon hearing her words as I slowly sat up so she could sit next to me. Her eyes were so serious, showing none of the playful light that they usually held. I sighed.

"It's about the file, isn't it?

Hermione's face suddenly turned grave as she nodded her head.

"Did you finally look it over?" She asked me.

Ever since we had gotten the file it was the one thing we bickered over. I didn't want to look at the evil thing, reliving my past blow by blow. Besides, Lupin was probably panicking for no good reason, giving into hyperbole. At least that was the excuse I gave myself. However, Hermione was convinced that we needed to read over it, prepare ourselves for the worst, together, but I didn't want to do that, not with her. I didn't want her to see the horrors of my past.

"I haven't," I admitted. I couldn't lie to her.

"Sev…" She trailed off, annoyed, I could tell.

"I know, I know," I said, defensive, "I need to look at it—"

"—That wasn't what I was going to say," she whispered. "It's none of my business and I shouldn't pry but you can't expect me to just stand by and not do anything. You're my friend. I want to help you."

Her last sentences, _"You're my friend. I want to help you,"_ plucked some emotion hidden deep inside me, like a tightly strung harp chord. We looked up at each other, our eyes locking into place, expressing what words cannot.

"We'll do it together," she continued naively, tucking loose strands of my hair behind my ear, thinking that the idea of us going through the file together would be of some comfort, when it, in fact, gave the exact opposite effect. I felt my lip involuntarily tremble as I closed my eyes, feeling her deft fingers pulling at strands of my hair, her kind, friendly touches breaking my heart. She'd never touch me again, not if she knew about my past in its entirety.

"Gibby!" she called, and my favorite house-elf house suddenly appeared with a loud _Pop!_ "Bring me the file."

My eyes snapped open as shock flooded my body. The house-elf disappeared. I quickly pulled away from her and I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"What are you doing?" I shouted at her.

"You need to stop avoiding this—"

"—And you need to stop being an insufferable know-it-all!" I screamed back, my breathing picking up, erratic. I felt like an animal being caged, being carted down to the pound, ready to be put up to be slaughtered. I looked at her eyes to see that they were clearly wounded, but I didn't care. I needed her to hurt enough to stop this madness before she hated me completely.

She blinked several times out of shock before she finally came to her senses. "That may be true sometimes," She said in a slightly hurt voice, "But you know I'm right about this."

"You couldn't be more wrong."

_POP!_ Gibby appeared once more in the living room, not knowing that he just landed in a potential war zone.

"Gibby," I said in my most stern, deadly voice, "give me the file."

Gibby looked at me with his big apple-shaped eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry Master Snape, but Miss Granger—"

I advanced on him. "Give. It. Here."

The elf made an "Eeep!" sound and quickly tossed the file to Hermione before disappearing once more. I then advanced on Hermione, determined to get the file back from her.

"Hermione—"

"Sev, I can't—"

I knew at that point that there was no dealing with her verbally, that she was as stubborn as me and no combination of words would let her turn the file over, so I made a grab for it, causing her to pull her wand on me.

What happened next is something that I still feel guilty about from time to time, when I lay down in my bed by myself. It is during those times that the racket of the world finally quiets down, allowing the background noise of my past to rise to the surface. It is then that I remember the bad things that I've done, the bad things that haunt me so much that I sleep restlessly. Nightmares always follow my every step when I sleep, which is why I dread having to slumber. I have too many regrets that I live with and at that moment I added another regret to the pile.

When Hermione pulled her wand on me, I quickly grabbed her wrist and shoved it against the wall behind her, my spy instincts still intact after all this time. She yelped loudly in pain, dropping her wand involuntarily with a loud clatter. I immediately felt guilty about my decision, hoping that I hadn't broken her wrist, like I had with so many others. I was good at what I did during my spying days and hand-to-hand combat was one of the things that I was trained in. I hoped against hope that I hadn't broken her wrist.

She then punched me right in the nose.

* * *

><p>"Draco wasn't kidding when he said your punch packed a wallop," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose with a washcloth. The blood flow was finally stopping, I noticed, examining the damage in her bathroom mirror. She and I were there tending to our wounds. It was decorated in decidedly girly colors, like light pink, light blue and other pastels. She had a claw-foot bathtub to the side surrounded by airy, lacy, white curtains and a vintage, Hollywood vanity mirror surrounded with enchanted light bulbs, just so I could see the dried blood underneath my nostrils with great clarity. Very attractive.<p>

We had also called a cease-fire and went back to trying to reach a verbal compromise, which is what we should have done in the first place.

"And I know you were holding back," Hermione said, looking at her bruised wrist while she sat on the lid of her toilet seat. "You could have really hurt me if you wanted to."

I shook my head at her as I put my washcloth down, then grabbed the jar of salve that I asked Gibby to retrieve earlier. I sat down next to Hermione on the floor, unscrewed the lid of the jar, and picked up some of the salve with my fingers. I picked up her hand gently, the warmth of her skin invading mine once more, as I rubbed the salve into her skin, causing the small patches of bruises to disappear.

"There was no excuse for that," I whispered, ashamed, "I shouldn't have laid a finger on you."

Hermione shrugged. "No, you shouldn't have," She finally said, "But it was war. I can't tell you how many times I accidentally punched Harry and Ron in the face when they made the mistake of waking me up and not getting out of the way in time."

"You punch people when you wake up?" Hermione nodded.

"Still do," She said, "It's instinctive, like me punching you in the face just now, which I also have no excuse for, by the way… All these nasty little habits we picked up from the war, huh?"

I nodded glumly, nervous about where this conversation was heading. I rubbed more salve to the soft skin on the underside of her wrist. She blushed slightly, looking down at our entangled hands.

"I could do that myself, you know?" She whispered.

"I know," I said back, "but it's the least I can do."

Her expression softened as she looked down at me.

"We all had to do what had to be done," She whispered, "Whatever you did, whatever is in that file, I can take it. I won't hate you."

I then did something else that I didn't think that I would. I wrapped my hands around Hermione's own, her last words touching me like nothing else could, me wondering how she knew exactly what to say to me. Her words felt so much like unconditional acceptance—something that I never had the pleasure of receiving—that I could have wept.

"You won't?" I whispered, leaning my head against the side of her lap. She nodded. She then started to run her fingers through my hair in calming, gentle strokes.

"I promise."

* * *

><p>I stayed over that night. She insisted that I stay, that we'd both had a rough time of it and we both agreed on looking at the file tomorrow. So I stayed, sleeping in the living room on the couch that she transfigured into a bed. The clock striking two. The fire still crackling in the hearth. The warmth of soft bedding pulled along my body and up to my face, stroking my cheek. The sound of her gentle breathing in the next room, the rhythm of it lulling me to sleep.<p>

I didn't have any nightmares that night.

* * *

><p>As always, reviews are a nice little way to show you care...<p> 


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